


Breaking Point

by pheonixgate1



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: And Now For Something Completely Different, But Mostly Original Game Canon, Cherry-Picking from Compliation of FF7, Corporate Espionage from 30 Years Ago, Damn You Advent Children, F/M, M/M, Multi, People You Just Thought Were Dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pheonixgate1/pseuds/pheonixgate1
Summary: Things have settled down after the Meteor Incident, but the echoes of the past are not so easily silenced. Life goes on, but not always in the ways we expect. -This is especially true if you are a TURK.
Relationships: Cloud Strife/Rufus Shinra, Eventual Vincent Valentine/Hojo, Other Pairings Hidden (for Plot)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I started in 2015 that is actually a remix of a story I started like... in 2002. That story no longer exists, but all the hype from the Remake has perked my interest again and I may consider working on this because it is more conceptually sound than it's predecessor.
> 
> However, don't expect a lot. I'm leaving it up here for your reading pleasure but currently my Magnum Opus is Nos Gerere, and until I can at least wrap up the first half, this will likely not see updates for a while. With that said, please enjoy.

He held the photograph out, between forefinger and thumb.

Vincent had not exactly been surprised by the summons. Once his name had been brought to the new regime's attention, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he was contacted. It would have been an easy thing for Tseng, as the new department head, to look him up. Even if there had been a cover-up, the statute of limitations would have passed by now. During his tenure as a TURK, the limit on high-security sealed documents was thirty years—after that, it was considered too old to be dangerous.

He feels like there should be some irony there, but right now he’s too numb to be amused by it.

At first the photo merely looked old, but holding it in his hand reveals its true age—and its poor quality. It’s a surveillance still from a modern camera but with all the inherent defects found in its predecessors. Despite the grainy image and bad lighting, the person in the picture is unmistakable. The location, however, is not.

“Where was this taken?”

Rufus Shin-Ra might be holding the pieces of a ruined empire but hold them he does, and close to the chest. Vincent knows that anything after the photograph will come at a cost. He is prepared to negotiate.

“So you recognize the subject?”

If it’s tit-for-tat, Vincent will be generous. His information is decades too old to carry any real weight, but just old enough to have chronological value, assuming most of the physical records from that time were destroyed along with most of Midgar.

“It’s him. –But you knew that already or I wouldn’t be here.”

There’s a file on the desk. Rufus taps it idly; bringing his attention to the fact that there is more to this than what he’s holding.

“Maybe we just needed confirmation. There’s no one left from that particular time period. Not even a janitor. –We’ve looked.”

He doesn’t doubt it. However, if confirmation is all he wanted, Rufus Shin-Ra is going to be very disappointed. –It’s a good bluff, delivered by a man who has been under Tseng’s careful tutelage, but Vincent knows better.

“Perhaps. But enough of you knew the man, saw him every day that you could have made a sound guess based on what he currently looked like without taking the trouble to bring me in on this.”

Tseng shifts slightly from his parade rest; a subtle reminder of his presence. Which isn’t necessary. There’s no need for unspoken threats; not when it’s overshadowed by this potential danger pinched innocuously between his fingers.

Suddenly this dance they are doing becomes tedious. He’s too old, too bitter and far too pragmatic. He tosses the photo onto the file.

“What do you need of me?”

Rufus blinks at him for a minute before looking to Tseng, revealing the mastermind behind this little meeting. It’s a rookie mistake, but if Tseng is annoyed by it, he makes no indication. Without missing a beat, he takes the reigns.

“We need more than just a picture. We need to know who this man is.”

Vincent frowns. Liking that implication far less than the original. The enemy you know is far better than the enemy you don’t—especially if it wears the same, albeit younger, skin.

“What more confirmation do you need? You already _know_ -“

Tseng interrupts, playing a card that Vincent had no idea he even had.

“-What I _know_ is that when a man with his sort of clearance dies under… questionable circumstances, his body is seen to with the same care and discretion as afforded by his position. Personally. -By a senior member of staff.”

Even though Tseng’s being purposely vague, he is familiar with that particular tenet. Thankfully he’d never had to sort that one out himself, though he’d have done so without a second thought. He can easily guess how the body was ‘seen to’. Probably into the nearest medical incinerator.

His silence must be taken as doubt, because Tseng continues.

“I oversaw the operation personally. There is no doubt as to what we were dealing with. What is not clear is who or what this is now. Because it cannot be him. A brother, a son or… something else perhaps. But not him.”

Vincent contemplates that. He can’t fault their reasoning for contacting him. He is the logical choice. And it just so happens they want the same thing. For now. This _is_ still Shin-Ra, however so first—ground rules.

“Very well. If we are to do this, then you need to understand that this is a mutual exchange of information. I do not answer to you, and I reserve the right to bring in others as necessary. -I trust I won’t need to worry about the safety of those individuals from your end.”

Rufus frowns but Tseng simply nods. They have no real power here, beyond expediency. He wants to know what’s they’ve gathered so far, but he’s not going to roll over for it. And at some point he’s going to have to tell Cloud.

“That is acceptable, so long as anyone you bring in understands that this is a Shin-Ra matter and will be dealt with as such. No interference will be tolerated once we have decided upon a plan of action. However we will be grateful for your input in the interim.”

Typical. They want him to do the foot-work, but whatever he finds out may not even matter when it’s all said and done. Still, in the small chance this person is not who they think he is, then interference or no, Vincent will not let an innocent be swept away by something so base as corporate espionage decades in the making.

He reaches out and taps the desk.

“Agreed.”

Rufus slides over the folder and sits back, giving him the opportunity to thumb through it. The picture has already been slipped back into its clip. Vincent stares at it for a few moments before concentrating on the text.

And the slim hope that this is a case of mistaken identity eventually becomes very slim indeed.

*

_There!_

The barest hint of shifting leaves and they’re almost on top of her. Almost. This place, this forest, was her hunting ground and she knows every branch, every bush and every bit of open ground. Eluding her attackers is still a careful dance, but considering there’s three of them and one of her—

Wait. _Three_?

The fourth is suddenly in her path, hands glowing pale green. It won’t be anything fatal she knows, but it will be a huge set-back if she’s taken. She throws her shuriken, mostly as a distraction, and he drops the spell with a yelp as he evades.

“Princess! Princess, please come back!”

She knows that voice. She knows them all. Of course her father would send _them._ His four loyal _dogs_.

She doesn’t waste her breath, and concentrates on her escape. It’s the only reason she’d been able to avoid them this long. It rankles, because she’s defeated them. Seen them bow to her in defeat. But it’s one thing to fight one after the other and another entirely to take on all four, together.

There’s pride and there’s stupidity and Yuffie has no room for either right now.

If they’ve found her out here, they’ll find her anywhere. Staying off the grid is no longer an option. Yuffie has favors to call in, but that kind of protection has an expiration date and she has no idea how long it will take for her father to come to his senses, or at the very least take her threats seriously. No, she needs something deeper. Personal. A friend.

But which one?

She does some quick math and cocks her head to the side to avoid the whisper of drug-tipped darts. Geographically speaking, there’s only one place for her to go. It’s a ways off; she’ll likely need to try and catch a chocobo along the way or she’ll be too tired to keep ahead of her pursuers—but once she makes it there, she’ll be home free. –At least for a while.

There’s a loud snap and a shriek and she almost falters because there is defiance and then there is death until she remembers: _Oh. The traps_.

Nothing deadly, but more than enough to give her a generous lead. She grins, giving a silent thanks to her paranoid sixteen-year old self, and keeps running.

*

Somewhere, no too far from the Mythil Mines, a small group convened.

Once the home of a transient miner, the space was just barely big enough for the three of them. Far from ideal, but they had little choice in the matter. Shin-Ra was even harder to hide from now that it had fractured into smaller constituents. Beyond the WRO, Shin-Ra was practically invisible, though they still had their fingers in a number of pots. Along with eyes and ears.

“Sturm. We’re starting.”

After giving the outside one last glance, the large man left his post and took his place in their rough circle. The ground between them was covered in lines—with markers made of pebbles and other debris. The one called Sturm looked over the assembled ‘map’ with a critical eye.

“How accurate is this?”

It’s a valid concern but the evidence of their accuracy is lying on the floor behind them in various states of unravel. Plans, survey photos and several other bits including a stolen fire exit diagram litter the floor of the small cave.

“It’s as accurate as we can get. We know his comings and goings. It will be enough.”

Sturm does not look impressed, but offers no complaint. He knows just how hard it was to get the scraps of information they’ve amassed. He only asks because he also knows they only have one shot at this. They have to get it right.

“So. We are all aware of our roles? This is our last chance for questions, ideas and last-minute concerns.”

The three look to each other. It is a heavy burden they bear, but each has committed to this act drawn before them and each has nothing but determination in their gaze. If they do not succeed, then their friends and loved ones will go unavenged and those who ravaged the planet will be free to do so again.

They are the last. AVALANCHE is no more save for the bodies in this dank cavern.

“No? Very well. This time tomorrow, we will have the last of the Shin-Ra in our grasp. Once we do, we shall make him atone for his sins against the Planet. The ruins of Midgar will be his tomb—a fitting epitaph for those who would repeat his mistakes. –For the Planet.”

“For the Planet.”

“For the Planet.”

After they intone the locution, they move to make ready for the morning and the task that looms before them. Rufus Shin-Ra might have survived the destruction of Meteor and ravages of Geostigma, but he could not be allowed to survive this.

There is no forgiveness without sacrifice. No favor without tribute. For the sake of all his sins and theirs, Rufus Shin-Ra must die.


	2. Chapter 2

His PHS is going off again.

He eyes it with disdain as he scrubs at his wet hair with a towel. He should turn it off, but that would require caring enough—and it’s already on mute. He watches it vibrate across the table with a detached sort of amusement.

It’s his day off. He’s not sure who’s calling and he doesn’t care, but if it’s anyone who knows him personally, then they should know better.

On his day off, Reno doesn’t take calls. He sometimes makes them, but he’s not interested in anyone else’s plans unless it’s possibly getting drunk and lately he’s been doing that in his apartment more often than not, since they can’t spare more than one TURK off at a time.

This fact does not deter the caller. If it continues like this, it’ll probably end up on the floor. Maybe even broken. Boss might jump his ass about it, since they’re technically not made of money anymore but he’s heard the spiel and even if it’s true he just doesn’t c _are_.

He drapes the towel over his shoulders and does a quick area check. His apartment is a standard shoe-box less than a stone’s throw from the office, but he’s lived in the Slums too long. Long enough to know that shit can go down _anywhere_. Even in a shiny new town like Edge.

So, he does a sweep as he walks to the bedroom.

Bathroom: Check.

Living area: Check.

Kitchen: Check.

Front Hall: Check.

Figure on Balcony: Che—

Reno puts his ratty sofa between him and whoever is perched on the railing of what is structurally considered his balcony but, in reality, is a fire escape with lofty aspirations. He’s not armed, but his mag rod is a short distance away in the kitchen and there’s a gun or two…somewhere. One in the bedroom (again, _somewhere_ ) and another… um. Actually the other one might be a knife. Shit. -Here’s hoping the cushions are as hard as they feel.

The bathroom door is still open and the steam is clearing enough so that he can kinda make out the vaguely human-shaped blob of the intruder in the mirror—the bathroom is across from the sliding door separated only by the tiny living area, which is a great floor-plan if you don’t mind giving the unit across from you a show every now and then but a terrible one for home invasions.

Above his pulse pounding in his ears, he hears a low buzzing and realizes his PHS _is still ringing._

It’s on the coffee table, which is in front of the couch which is facing the balcony access and windows but if it’s Tseng or even Rufus they can have back up here in minutes. Whoever is out there has had ample opportunity to do whatever it is they’re here to do but they haven’t. Obviously they’re waiting. But for what?

He stares hard at the fuzzy, dripping reflection and decides the PHS is his best weapon at the moment.

In a move that would have done a SOLDIER proud he flips over the back of the couch, rolls on top of the table; snagging the vibrating device on his way off. He then dives back behind the couch with his prize and punches the accept button before whoever is calling finally gives up.

“This is Reno, I need back-“

“- _Let me in, dumbass_!”

His brain stutters at the distressed whisper. It’s not anyone he can readily identify but the voice is female and familiar in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. The fact that he was casually insulted is noted, but he’s in a potentially violent situation and—wait. _What did she say_?

“Who is this, and what do you mean let you…”

Oh. _Oh_.

Slowly, putting his belly to the ground, he peeks past the edge of the couch. The intruder, who still hasn’t moved, does indeed have a PHS next to her ear. As he watches, she sways a bit.

“ _It’s Yuffie. –Look, I’m sorry if I startled you, but can you please,_ please _let me inside_?”

With the identity of his would-be assassin confirmed, he collapses face down into the pile of his questionably clean carpet; the tension leaving his body as quickly as it came. That was why it was familiar. Reeve had been actively using the ninja for WRO work, and that inevitably lead to their paths crossing more often (and less violently) than they had before.

He ends the connection and rights himself with a grunt. Finally getting a good look, he notices that the normally perky girl looks wrecked. There’s obvious fatigue and a leanness that tells of a lack of provisions for an extended period of time. The device is gone from her ear but the sway has only gotten worse. He’d better do something. If a gust of wind takes her out, it’ll probably be war. Again.

He opens the sliding door, and reaches for an unsteady arm. The Princess has grown a bit, but she’s still all leg and the way she gingerly unfolds herself makes it clear that while she’s not bleeding anywhere he can see, she’s not in perfect working order either. The way she lists into the apartment pretty much confirms it.

She makes for the sofa and oozes into it in such a way that suggests she won’t be moving for some time.

Now a good host would offer some form of refreshment to this weary traveler, but he’s just spent the last few minutes on high alert for no real reason and isn’t feeling very charitable about it.

In fact, he’s actually kinda pissed off.

“Since you’re in no condition for me to march down to the nearest WRO office, I guess you’re stuck in Chez Reno.”

He makes a grand sweeping gesture that encompasses his sad little abode that is totally wasted on his guest who looks like she might have slipped into unconscious in the two seconds he wasn’t paying attention. He nudges her with his foot until he she focuses again. The glare is weak, but wary.

“-Listen up. Your five-star amenities include: this ergonomic sofa, guaranteed to improve your posture or your ass can sleep on the floor. A luke warm shower with about 10 minutes of warm left—I’d take advantage of that pretty quick if I were you. All the tap water you can drink and maybe, if I feel like going out to get it, some food later. –It’s my day off, though. I might just decide to sleep all day and pick up something on the way to work tomorrow.”

Yuffie doesn’t answer beyond a groan—like his questionable hospitality is the best. Thing. Ever. He has to wonder about the sort of peace-time mission that does this to an elite ninja. Definitely not something he’d want to sign up for. -Who knew Reeve was such a slave driver?

“I have… nothing on me right now. But if you let me use your shower you can name your price. On my honor as Princess and Premier Shinobi of Wutai…”

Invoking the Royal Family for a chance at his tiny bathroom might be a sign that he should be taking her pitiable state a little more seriously. Which means food in the near future. And not whatever junk he’s got rattling around here.

“I already said you could use it but since you’re offering, how about some Quid Pro Quo? You want a shower, I want answers. Let’s make a deal.”

This time the groan is a bit more like the one he was going for.

“Oh man, I hate you. –But ok.”

She tries some slick ninja move to get into the bathroom first. He grabs for her ankle and connects. It’s all too easy since a half-hearted flop was all that came of it. She glares at him balefully. It fails to impress.

“Aw, I hate you too, honey. –Now, how did you get my number?”

*

“Grrah! I can’t believe it! Not again!”

The outburst was one of many amidst a cacophony of cheers and groans as the Winners are announced. The man in question tears his ticket up into tiny pieces and throws them in the air like cheap confetti before stalking away from the announcement board. Vincent eyes the trash left behind with distaste.

It’s only a petty act of childishness, but the fact that it mildly offends only serves to remind him just how far removed he is from the here and now. He tugs the sleeve of his turtleneck over his claw and continues his reconnaissance, mentally going over the Intel while he scans the area.

_“Gold Saucer?”_

_Rufus merely raises an eyebrow, seamlessly taking control as Tseng remains silent beside him._

_“You seem surprised. You realize that the most popular and viable outlet for the less clandestine branches of genetic science have to do with livestock, and breeding superior racing birds is pretty much the highest-grossing form of that.”_

_He skims down until he sees a name._

_“Leighton Labs. I’m not familiar with that name. You’re certain he’s an employee?”_

_If the former president is irked by the second-guessing of his intel, he shows no indication. Once again in his element, the perfect mask of confidence is firmly in place._

_“Yes. –Under an assumed name, of course. Leighton is well-known in their respective field. At least they were, until our mutual blond friend changed the whole dynamic by introducing Natural Golds into the racing circuit.”_

_There was a page indicating the company’s current financial status. Leighton had shrunk considerably just before Meteorfall and had recently consolidated their assets into their new main office at Gold Saucer. He recognized Dio’s flamboyant scrawl at the bottom of their 10-year lease._

There.

A hint of pink. Making a casual trek around the lobby, he makes visual contact. People may find it odd, but Ester’s seemingly outlandish style of dress is actually a uniform based on the old docent costumes from Gold Saucer’s early days. It speaks of a deep connection to the park and it’s not the first time he’s wondered if she is actually a Partner or relation to one. The fact that she controls one of the most lucrative areas in Gold Saucer is a good indication, but Dio is notoriously eccentric. She could be an excellent kick-boxer or something equally ridiculous.

Taking up her usual spot, Gold Saucer’s Chocobo Racing Manager has changed little since the last time he saw her. If anyone can get him into the Saucer’s hidden Commercial District, it’s her. He can only hope she recalls his association with Cloud. The diminutive ex-SOLDIER might be famous in certain circles, but he handed the rights to his birds over to Chocobo Bill some time ago and he hasn’t raced since then.

Ester sees hundreds of faces a day. If she doesn’t remember Cloud, then she likely won’t remember him. That will make things difficult.

“Pardon me.”

Ester looked up at him with a smile; chocobo feather waving as she bobs in greeting.

“Hello! What can I do for you?”

Vincent had once made a career out of terrorizing others. Certainly the changes made to his body were intended to be a more physical manifestation of that career, but he’d learned that anything could be overlooked with the right affectation.

So with turtleneck and slacks, heavy rimmed glasses and a marginally tamed ponytail, the former TURK sincerely hopes that he’s reining back the intimidation factor. –It’s difficult to determine when you can kill someone with everyday household items, just exactly what ‘harmless’ is.

“Hello. I was hoping you could help me. Do you happen to know an acquaintance of mine? Cloud Strife?”

She makes a show if thinking it over, but she knows exactly who he’s asking about.

“Hmm. About yea tall, blue eyes, hair like a chicobo’s butt? I might know who you’re talking about. –You said you were a friend?”

She looks skeptical. No doubt he’s not the first one to inquire about the reclusive man and likely not the only one to pose as a ‘friend’. He briefly considers using a cover, but thinks better of it. If he can convince Ester to help him using the real story, any action he takes will be viewed as being in the park’s best interest. Besides, thanks to his part-time WRO work he has a laundry list of references, besides Cloud and his group.

He bows slightly, arm across his chest and her eyes go round at the sight of his claw.

“My name is Vincent Valentine. I don’t suppose you remember me; I only mention Cloud because it was in his company that I first heard of you. I accompanied him on a few of his visits here during the Meteor Incident. –You’ll find my name in your logs, as a Guest on his Gold Ticket Pass.”

At his established paper trail, Ester looks a little less combative. He had struggled with whether to use his real name during his visits to the Saucer, but he’s glad he did so now. Wary of the patrons wandering about, he leans in a bit, not enough to crowd but enough so that the general noise of the area covers what he’s about to say.

“A situation has recently been brought to my attention which could potentially put many in danger—right here in Gold Saucer. Though the danger is not immediate, it is imperative that the matter be addressed as soon as possible. –Of course, I don’t want to cast any doubt as to the safety of the park, especially where others might hear. Is there a time where we can speak privately?”

Shuffling behind him causes him to turn and notice the sizeable crowd forming behind him, waiting for their chance at Ester. He’s a little surprised. It’s not the weekend, so he assumed the jockeys would mostly be staffers on standard rotation. It seems he greatly overestimated his window of opportunity.

She frowns at the unsettling news.

“Mister… -Valentine, was it? If this is as serious as you say then I need to bring the Owner in. I’m afraid I can’t do anything without his consent, and if it’s a matter of security he’ll need to know anyway. -He’s the head of that.”

It’s a complication, but an inevitable one. He had considered going straight to Dio with his information, but was afraid the man’s own eccentricity would prevent him from taking the matter seriously. He had initially hoped to bypass him entirely but as this was no longer an option, it was better to have the situation presented by a trusted member of staff who is well aware of the man’s foibles.

“I expected as much. -Dio is a very difficult man to track down or I would have gone to him directly. I apologize for having to approach you this way.”

With Ester mollified, he is promised a meeting and given a time and place. Since Gold Saucer’s owner is every bit as elusive to his staff as he is to guests, the meeting is scheduled for later in the week, giving him time to check in with Tseng and to make what will likely be a very awkward call to Cloud.

He gives another short bow and takes his leave, allowing the flow of people to move him along. He had hoped it was a mistake, and maintained that hope still. But Cloud would have to be told sooner or later and as a former experiment of the man in question, he believes himself to be the best candidate to do so.

As he takes the chute back to the hotel, he tries to gauge Cloud’s reaction to the news using what he knows about the younger man. None of his hypothetical situations end particularly well. The question remains.

How exactly is he going to tell him that Hojo is alive?

*

He shakes off the unnatural lethargy with some effort. It costs him in that his vision swims and doesn’t quite settle but he is considerably more aware that he is not where he ought to be at the moment. Which is in the office, working. With Tseng. -Or Rude.

He’s too addled to remember the rotation, but he knows he usually works with someone capable of stopping something like this from happening. The gap between waking up this morning and waking up _now_ is depressingly blank. Whoever’s shift it was is getting their pay docked—assuming he survives of course.

“He’s waking up.”

The voice helps hold his focus a little but his body is still comfortably heavy; like an old quilt. He blinks blearily down at himself and realizes he’s tied and that the person who did it has some skill. It will take more faculties than he has at the moment to get loose.

That doesn’t stop him from flexing some life into his stiff hands and feet.

Even with the very likely odds that he will not come out of this unscathed, Rufus feels more annoyance than anything else. When you’ve been abducted as many times as he has, it eventually becomes rote. Either they’ll have demands or they’ll try to kill him for whatever slight they believe the company was responsible for—even though the worst of it happened either before he was born or while he was too young to do anything about it.

He wishes he could get that kind of brand loyalty from actual customers instead of people who want to kill him. He might still have a viable business instead of gradually depleting fail-safe investments.

His thoughts are interrupted by a hand in his hair as it tilts his face up to view one of his captors. It isn’t anyone he recognizes, but that’s typical. He’s never been good with faces, but he is very good at making connections and people who do this kind of thing always have a story. -Sometimes it’s even a good one; one that makes him feel vaguely guilty when he’s identifying their corpses later.

“Hello Mr. President. Do you know who I am?”

Rufus does not roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. It’s like he is somehow supposed to be omniscient in the field of domestic terrorism. He takes in the age, the sex, the clothes, the overall mien and his muddled brain churns out: _Eco-terrorist._ Probably some remnant of AVALANCHE. All of the other tree-huggers joined up with the WRO.

So it’s to be revenge. For things he either didn’t do, or didn’t stop doing. The man is calmly looking down at him, the silence stretching on and he realizes: _Oh. He actually wants an answer._

Well, if death is going to be the endgame here, then Rufus has even less incentive than usual to pull his punches.

“No. But that doesn’t matter does it? Are you going to tell me your sad little story before you do whatever it is you brought me here to do or are we just going to get on with it?”

The man’s face goes from patient to ugly and the blow is so predictable that he’s able to move his face slightly so that it’s a bruise, not a concussion. His hair is grabbed again and this time the intention is to pull him into an upright position. It should probably hurt more than it does, but he is still properly buzzing from whatever they gave him and so doesn’t move an inch to help with this goal. Eventually hands grab at his arms and heave him up. The hand in his hair tightens and holds his head perfectly still. It takes him a moment to realize that no further violence is coming and he focuses instead on the surroundings.

He blinks at the fact that they are in Midgar. And not just at the edges either. Burnt and twisted metal surrounds them on all sides. Rufus can feel the tang of Mako at the back of his throat—the real reason behind the city’s desertion. Mako seepage had made the place unlivable—even those who came for the healing spring kept their visit short. It was originally believed that this was the cause of the Geostigma epidemic, but as people across the continent became infected with no reactor in sight, the idea was eventually forgotten.

The voice returns, right at his ear and he blames the disorientation of the drugs for his brief struggle to get away from it.

“A sad little story? Mr. President, your debt to the Planet could fill _volumes_. The abridged version, since you seem to be in such a hurry, is that this place should have been your grave. We are rectifying that mistake. Fitting since it was once your palace, yes?”

There are two others beyond the speaker. One of them is holding him up. The other is standing a little away from them. He can’t tell for sure, but it looks like she has a knife. She’s wearing the same piece-meal clothing as the spokesperson and carries signs of Stage 3 infection: her hair is a dark pewter that had probably once been brown.

“You may have convinced the general public that Geostigma was caused by poisoning of the Lifestream, but we know it for what it truly is. Even your feeble scientists could find no better name. Geostigma: wrath of the Planet.”

The woman comes closer and it _is_ a knife she has. His hair is finally released and he’s lowered to the ground again. In his mind’s eye he can see them slitting his throat and leaving him here to bleed out. Probably after intoning some sort of prayer to an entity that neither knows nor cares what they are doing. If the Planet did nothing while his company bled it dry, then obviously it’s going to take something bigger than his own death to get its attention.

“Whatever you’re doing, you’re wasting your time. The Planet only reacts when in imminent danger. It did nothing when we built the reactors. It isn’t even responsible for Geostigma, despite what everyone thinks. If you want to blame me for the actions of Shin-Ra Electric, then fine. But don’t dress it up as some kind of appeasement. The Planet doesn’t care. It doesn’t even know we _exist_.”

He had been kneeling, but the Speaker’s boot catches him in the chest and he hits the ground coughing.

“Do not speak of the Planet as if you know it. The only beings that knew the Planet are the Ancients, and they are extinct because of you! We know of the girl in the slums. We know why you wanted her. She is dead because of your actions! Our last link to the Planet, gone!”

Grabbed by the hair again and he is so, so tired of this _bullshit_. He kicks out and hears a grunt. It’s from the one who’d been holding him earlier. The one he hasn’t seen. The Speaker is surprised enough by his sudden viciousness that he lets go of his head and steps back. He registers the man’s retreat and realizes he’s not a fighter. He’s too angry to read much into it, but still finds it odd behavior for a fanatic.

The woman steps up and has the point of her knife under his chin so fast he doesn’t register it against his throat until he feels the slide of blood down his neck. This one _is_ a fighter. In more ways than one, it seems.

“With the wisdom of the Ancients lost to us, we have no choice but to go back to the old ways. Our plea may go unheard, but at the very least we will have stopped-“

Rufus doesn’t understand what makes the Speaker cut his diatribe short, focused as he is on the woman. Until it happens again.

Movement. All around them. Groaning metal and the ping of debris track a slow progression and he wants to think it’s his TURKs but he knows they’re better than that. Whatever is moving is being cautious but not quiet. And besides, there’s too many individuals from the sound of things.

The woman backs away from him, head darting around to track the noise. He can hear the one he kicked slowly doing the same. The Speaker stands frozen, his face white with fear. As interested as he is in the interruption, Rufus spares a thought as to where the two more able of the group picked up such an obvious coward. A leader who can only keep it together when things are going to plan is no leader at all.

“What is it? What _is it?_ ”

He sees the woman’s head whip around, probably to silence the man before he can draw more attention to himself. She doesn’t get a chance though, because as soon as Rufus sees what steps out from the shadows, he starts to laugh.

“Shhh! Shut up! _Shut up!_ –Shut him up!”

He’s hauled up from behind and a gloved hand put over his mouth. It smells overwhelmingly like dirt, but he still gasps with laughter. The adrenaline must finally be kicking in because he’s shaking with it and can’t seem to stop.

One of the figures leaps down, all sleek muscle and padded feet and the two that aren’t holding him immediately give it room. He knew Hojo had made more of them, and he should probably be more concerned about them running around feral, but as another dark shape emerges, and another and another all he can feel is an odd sort of elation.

He didn’t know what Hojo ended up calling them. Probably something boorish and scientific. He only knows what _his_ was called. A name worthy of the legacy for which it was created.

Dark Nation.

A whole pack of them. Their unique genetic makeup was obviously not affected by the toxic Mako levels because they had been… breeding. They were probably going to kill them all, but at least he had the satisfaction that his erstwhile kidnappers would be going along for the ride. And they were magnificent creatures. There were worst ways to die.

Like the true predators they were, they singled out the weakest prey first. The mouthpiece squeals as the boldest of the pack makes a lunge for him that is barely checked by the woman’s brandished knife. The creature merely retreats a few paces before stopping, tail lashing. It seems she has the only real weapon, not counting materia, which he’s sure at least one of them has. She angles her head in his direction, eyes assessing, but when she speaks she’s addressing her cohort.

“We can’t hold them off. -He’s already bleeding. I say throw him to the pack. It may buy us some time.”

She turns back to their so-called leader, who has regained a bit of color at the prospect of escape.

“I know it’s not the way we wanted, but he’ll be just as dead. A sacrifice to the Planet. Food for Her creatures. It is a good end for him.”

Rufus wants to mention that they are technically creatures of _science_ , but he is beyond speech still. In any case, he knows she’ll get no argument. The Leader’s eyes are still wide with fear, and the one holding him is rigid with tension. In the end, most Fanatics inevitably choose themselves over the Cause. One way or another.

The muted thumps of multiple paws hitting the dirt puts everyone in agreement.

“On my word...”

His captor changes his grip, no longer caring for the hiccupping chuckles still coming from his mouth. Large hands fist in his clothes, and he realizes the type of throw they’re going to use just seconds before it happens.

“NOW!”

He registers being choked by his own clothing before he is airborne. Even though he anticipates the action, his muzzy state makes his reaction too slow and he hits the ground on his stomach, air leaving him in a painful whoosh. Dazed, he can only gasp as the sound of scuffling feet gets further and further away. Harsh cracks of impacted metal follow as the pack gives chase.

Moments pass and the air is punctuated with a scream. At least one of the beasts found their mark.

Once he catches his breath, he slowly attempts to right himself, which is much more difficult bound as he is. He gets as far as rolling on his back before a paw on his chest presses him down. His spasmodic laughter left him with most of his air when he hit the ground, so when the beast leans close to his unprotected neck there is only barely-checked breathing.

Moments pass where his heartbeat is his entire awareness. He barely feels the wet puffs against his skin, but the broad wet swipe that follows has him surging up with a gasp.

A second paw subdues him and the tongue continues its trek, following the trail of blood as it disappeared in his clothes. Dazed, helpless, and with nearly the full weight of the creature on his chest, breathing quickly becomes a losing battle. Darkness creeps into his vision as his lungs fight the compression.

As he slowly fades out of consciousness, he can’t help but be glad that he won’t be awake when the teeth finally come out.

It’s the last coherent though he has for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of story movement. It's not a long chapter, but I wanted to give you all something after waiting so long. Next chapter will likely be twice the length as we get into some of the meat of the plot.

“He’s not going to answer.”

Tseng paused, his fist inches from the door. His bald subordinate is a man of few words, which makes him an exceptional operative and a good match for Reno—who is loud in pretty much all aspects. However, this is no guarantee that whatever the man actually says is worth listening to. Which is occasionally a profound disappointment.

Like now.

It had been five hours since Tseng had gone into Rufus’ bedroom to remind him that he did, in fact, have a job that required his attendance only to find an empty bed; obviously slept in, but with no trace of the occupant. Three hours since he’d called in every favor, every debt, every last scrap of resources at his command. He’s had no food, no rest—not so much as a _piss break_ and all of this must show on his face because when he turns to respond, Rude—the asset who’s based his career on the economics of movement, startles into parade rest like a green recruit.

He feels no satisfaction in the gesture, just barely-checked ire.

“The knock is just a courtesy.”

And it is, for even as he raps his knuckles on the cheap wood, he’s sliding the key home and twisting the knob and they’re inside.

As it turns out, Reno is not going to answer because he isn’t home.

They both take a moment to observe the man’s natural habitat. It’s surprisingly clean, though the furniture down to the carpet is old, worn and cheap. Tseng has known Reno for… well… his entire career and he doesn’t think, beyond beating on the man’s door at eleven in the morning because there is _late_ and then there is _blatant_ _disrespect_ , that he has ever actually been inside his living quarters.

There is a good reason for this.

Despite his overall appearance and affectations, Reno is a superb asset whose strength lies in his sheer adaptability. Having thrived in the slums from a very young age has given the man a set of instincts Tseng has seen in no other. -Employing it on a regular basis comes at a price, however.

As they slowly fan out and begin a casual sweep, Tseng is still slightly awed by it. For Reno to function in any sort of official capacity, he has to have days where he can totally disconnect. It was never something Tseng officially signed off on but the younger man has always taken his days off with extreme prejudice. At first it had been troublesome, but in the end this one small foible of Reno’s personality was what kept solid psych reports and shining performance reviews landing on his desk when others had to take ‘mandatory leave.’

He notices Rude freeze at what is presumably Reno’s bedroom. The bald head turns minutely and a gloved hand motions for silence. Tseng adjusts his stride and sidles up to the taller man who gives him some room at the threshold.

There’s a lump in the bed.

This isn’t a huge surprise but Reno is a notoriously light sleeper and the noise they’ve made thus far would have had them on the end of weapon by now. As his eyes adjust, he can see the lump is a bit too small for his red-headed subordinate. A guest perhaps?

He’s not familiar with Reno’s proclivities when it comes to relationships or even just casual sex because it has never interfered with his work and thus become Tseng’s problem. But he can guess, from the fact that his partner is on High Alert that this sort of situation is not normal.

Rude begins to edge into the room until a tiny flash of light catches Tseng’s attention and he grabs the larger man by the back of the jacket.

He halts immediately. Tseng taps two fingers into the small of his back and they both very slowly back up until Rude is clear of the doorway and back in the hall.

Tseng closes his eyes, trusting his fellow Turk to stay alert, before peering into the dim bedroom. With his eyes swiftly adjusting, he carefully moves his head and sees the faint slide of light again. This time from multiple angles.

Filament wire. Strung high. Likely for something to drop down from above.

They are very lucky that it hadn’t been a trip wire, because Rude would have already sprung the trap. As it is, he draws his weapon; intent on disturbing whoever is in the bed. This is obviously some kind of anomaly, even for Reno, and the faster they find out what’s going on here the faster they can return to the task at hand.

Before Tseng can call into the room, the front door bursts open and Reno is there, brandishing his mag rod; the tip live and crackling at full voltage.

“Alright you fuckers, what are you…” He trails off when he sees exactly who he’s addressing. He cocks a brow at Tseng’s weapon.

“Rude. Tseng. Nice of you to leave the door open. -You got a problem with something in my room? Cause I’m pretty sure it’s cleaner than my desk. Just saying.”

When Tseng doesn’t respond or drop his gun, Reno’s eyes narrow. The slide into Work Mode is visible.

His eyes flit to the couch whose empty expanse makes him frown for whatever reason. As they watch, he stalks to the darkened niche of his bathroom and flicks on the lights. Tseng can’t tell for certain but there seems to be clothing strewn all over. There’s a low curse before Reno emerges, a full-blown scowl on his face.

“No, no _no_. -Oh no you did _not_ …”

Tseng can’t help but look on in fascination. Reno’s laid-back persona is so ingrained, it’s rare to see the extremes. So he can hardly be faulted that he lets the man step past him into the bedroom before he remembers why that’s a bad idea.

Thankfully Rude’s hand snaps out and yanks the other man back before he can be bisected by the giant shuriken that swings down from the ceiling. The near-miss makes Reno swear loud enough to rouse the room’s occupant who curses his mother in Wutainese before burrowing back into the blankets.

And suddenly Tseng is quite certain who this unlikely houseguest is.

He responds in kind and the figure shoots up, dull flash of metal in her hand. She blinks hard in the gloom; making a disgruntled noise once she identifies them. She flops back into the bed with a sigh. Tseng would be insulted by the reaction, if it were anyone else.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? -Your bed is the couch… Is that my _shirt_?”

Reno’s rising gorge would be comical if it weren’t on the heels of a crisis. With their intruder identified, he grabs the other man by the arm; intent on leading him to a place where they can quickly debrief.

They end up steps away in the redhead’s kitchen, clustered around his small table which ironically seats three; takeout cartons open and being voraciously emptied. Knowing the man like he does, he has to wonder if the food choice was deliberate. It’s local Wutainese and, while still fairly good—especially to his empty stomach, it’s basically the white-trash version of a certain Princess’ home cuisine.

Reno briefly explains the situation with Kisaragi—at least as much as he knows. Tseng will definitely have to look into the matter later, once there’s time but for now he’s satisfied as to why the Princess of Wutai’s sodden clothing is in Reno’s bathroom.

“Alright so. What do we know?”

Tseng gives Reno a timeline of events, starting with him going to get their erstwhile boss out of bed and ending with he and Rude’s attempt to collect their fellow TURK. The red head is silent as he turns the information around in his head—chewing slowly as he processes.

“You said it was this morning, right? Nine-ish? That’s… almost six hours now. You realize this is a retrieval, right? Not a rescue.”

He frowns. For anyone else, he wouldn’t question it but Rufus had survived seemingly insurmountable odds before.

“He’s come through worse situations, after longer uncertainty. -In any case, until there’s a body we have to assume he’s alive somewhere. I’m officially calling you in. Whatever problems you might have with that can be addressed later. -For now, I need you on this.”

Thankfully, Reno just shrugs. He looks none too happy to have been the one to suggest that the former President was already dead, but in their line of work they can’t afford unrealistic optimism. Everyone at the table had been thinking the same, but likely comparing all the times the younger man should have met his end and somehow didn’t.

“And you’re sure he’s not anywhere in the city? Like one hundred percent?”

Is he sure his charge’s body isn’t shoved into some narrow receptacle, oozing and forgotten? Unfortunately, no. Junon still maintains the polite façade of being under Shin-Ra control but it is a flimsy one. Wholly unstable and nearly transparent to those who know how to look.

“Sure enough to not be there, searching. -What do you see, Reno?”

The redhead leaves his chopsticks in the carton and leans back in his chair; closes his eyes. In the next few moments, his Second will demonstrate just why he will someday be Tseng’s replacement—assuming they all still have jobs after this.

“What I see is a long-term con. If it were just revenge, they could have killed him while he was asleep—or tried to at least. But they were careful. They couldn’t risk one of us catching on. -Especially you.”

He watches as Reno breathes out and tilts his head to the ceiling.

“Someone’s been casing him for a long time. Someone no one would expect. Low on the radar. Maintenance probably. Someone you don’t see every day but is there enough to know schedules and rotations. Floorplan. Exits."

Tseng mentally goes through the list of people who work at the building where Rufus currently resides _again_ , this time taking Reno’s observations into consideration. Everyone he had already looked into checked out; even the ones who had the day off. Most were long-time employees.

Building maintenance was subcontracted by the Superintendent, but only those with long-standing contracts were allowed access. He has personally met most of them at one time or another. Has checked their work to make sure there were no cases of possible sabotage or surveillance. _For years_.

But there has to be something. Something he’s missing.

He looks up sharply as he hears a distinctive buzzing from under them. Reno must hear it too because he cracks an eye open from his ruminations and says: “Relax, its just the lawn guy. He comes twice a week.”

Tseng has to pause at that.

“You have a _lawn_?”

His subordinate scoffs.

“Ha, no. -But the building does. Sort of.” He makes a careless wave. “Bushes and stuff. I don’t know.”

Tseng opens his mouth to say something else, but it is suddenly lost as his mind finally makes a connection. Junon had very little in the way of natural beauty anymore, but all Shin Ra Facilities had some form of cosmetic greenery and Rufus’ apartments were no different. Whoever cared for them would not need to be there every day, would rarely be seen but like all the other staff, would also be a long-time employee.

He gets out his phone, to call the Superintendent back.

“You got something?”

He nods at Rude while he waits for the call to connect. The Super is weary of being put to task by him yet again but, now that he has the right questions, he is quick to turn over a name. _Sturm_.

*

Cloud eyes his phone with suspicion.

He gets regular calls. Usually from the same people. -He’s better at answering now but, when he’s driving especially, he often misses them. However, according to his notifications, he’s received an unusually high volume of calls today, and he’s not quite sure he wants to engage in any of it.

He's got five messages. Three from unknown numbers. One from Vincent. One from Tifa.

Since the call from Tifa could be anything from a job to some disaster with the kids, he taps her name on the voicemail list.

_Hey Cloud. -Look I know our policy on taking Shinra jobs hasn’t changed but I got a call from Rude today. Something big is going on but he wouldn’t give me details over the phone. He asked me to keep my eyes and ears open and to see if you could meet him at an address here in Edge. I’m just passing it along but… he actually sounded pretty worried. -For him, I mean. Maybe we shouldn’t sit this one out. It’s your call, but whatever you decide, be safe and come back soon._

He frowns heavily at that. Something ‘big’ involving even the broken remnants of Shinra could be something catastrophic. Reeve is usually good at giving a head’s up on that kind of thing but he hasn’t heard from the man in a good two months now. Which means the situation has come up suddenly, or Shinra has been keeping a lid on it. Either way it doesn’t bode well.

Eyeing the only other known contact on the list, he reluctantly taps Vincent’s name.

_Cloud. There is an urgent matter I must discuss with you. It would be best if we could talk face-to-face. I am at Gold Saucer. Speak to Ester and she will guide you to the residential district where I am currently staying. Normally I would try to meet you halfway, but I cannot leave my post at the moment. Please contact me if you get tied up in the park somewhere and I’ll meet you. Take care._

The blond sighs. While there’s a possibility that the two matters are connected in some way, Vincent is even more wary of involving himself in Shinra affairs than he is. Plus, it wouldn’t make sense for Rude to ask him to come to Edge only for Vincent to have him come all the way out to the Saucer. No, it must be separate incidents. Fantastic.

That leaves the three unknown messages. Having no preferences, he taps the one at the top.

_Cloud. It’s Tseng. I realize you are traveling and won’t get this message right away but the President is missing. While I cannot completely rule out that he has left of his own volition, due to the evidence we’ve found, I have little reason to believe this is the case._

The voice pauses for a few beats. 

_I am aware that you have been deeply wronged by the Company and, though we strive to undo some of the damage that has been wrought, I have no right to ask this of you. And yet I must. I know you will say that you are only a Delivery Service, and that’s fine. Deliver Rufus Shinra to us, and you may name your price. -Please contact me at any time at this number if you have information. Anything at all. Thank you._

He can feel his eyebrows almost touching the line of his hair. While Tseng has called a few times offering work; simple delivery jobs that he has nevertheless always declined, he has never made a request like this.

Cloud turns the information over in his head. Obviously the situation is on a very need-to-know basis, considering Rude had only left a vague message with Tifa. He’s not sure what to do with the knowledge that he is apparently on that very short list.

He taps the next message, which ends up being from Yuffie.

_Heeeey, Spikey. I’m going to be in town soon. -Do you mind if I crash with you and Tifa for a bit? I’ll totally help out around the place and I swear on my mother’s grave that I won’t touch a single piece of materia—assuming you have some laying around. -Which won’t matter, because I won’t even look at it. Or touch it. -Not even to see what kind it is. Promise!_

This would be typical Yuffie, except she sounds breathless and after a moment he hears something whiz by and the other mutters a something under her breath that he can’t make out.

_Ah, you know what? Just.. don’t be surprised if I turn up suddenly, ok? -Oh and if my dad calls, you haven’t heard from me and don’t know where I am. It’s super important that you don’t tell him anything. Pretend like this conversation never happened. -Shit!_

Cloud’s not sure but he thinks he hears more whizzing sounds followed by the alarmed warble of a chocobo, then the connection ends. He stares at the phone for a minute. That almost sounded like the young Shinobi might be in trouble of some kind. And bringing it right to his door. He sighs.

Thankfully, Yuffie’s variety of trouble is usually easily managed. -Which is good because he’ll likely have little choice in the matter, seeing as she’s already on the way.

That just leaves the last message. He could stop now; there’s plenty on his plate already. But he doesn’t dare tempt fate at this point. It obviously has it out for him today.

He taps the number. And freezes at the voice.

_Hello Cloud._

The special emphasis on the ‘L’ sound makes his shoulders hunch. He would marvel at how the Don always makes his name sound like a proposition, if it didn’t creep him out so much.

_-You remember our little agreement, right? About keeping an eye on things in our once-fair city? Well I have a little something for you. Seems like someone, or a few someones went off the beaten path and got into some trouble. Now, charitable guy that I am, I sent out a rescue party and got one of them back, all safe and sound. -And what do you know? He was so grateful that he told me all the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ of what he was doing here and I gotta tell you Cloud, this is a story you don’t want to miss._

The blond can guess just how the poor person’s tongue was loosened, gratefulness aside. Don Corneo, even hobbled as he is now, was certainly no slouch when it came to creative coercion.

_If you’re interested, call me back and I’ll text you my new address. Got burned out of the old place a while back. Rats chewing on everything—you know how it is. And you also know my price. Make sure you have it when you get here, otherwise the help gets confused. You know how hard it is to find good help these days, am I right?_

He frows at the slimy man’s presumptuousness but he’s not done.

_-Oh, and Cloud. This is a limited time offer. Information like this… well, it goes stale. Loses its value. Trust me, you’ll want to jump on this. No one wants a dead goose—even if it’s a golden one. If you catch my meaning._

Normally this would make him scratch his head, but golden goose? There’s only one person that comes to mind when he applies that to his list of acquaintances. It can’t be a coincidence.

The message ends and he looks at the list again. He’s not entirely sure the Don is talking about Rufus but, if he is, then the ‘limited time offer’ makes more sense. And Tseng did say ‘anything.’

“Sorry Vincent. You’ll have to wait.”

He taps the number that will get him the Leader of the Turks hoping, at least for their sake, that it’s not too late already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've thought long and hard about it and the 'Cherry-Picking from Compilation of FF7' tag now includes the Remake and the two novels, 'On the Way to a Smile' and 'The Kids are Alright..'. If you're not familiar with them, you might end up being familiar with some of the characters anyway, because the Remake team has already added at least 3 from 'The Kids are Alright.' But anyway, spoiler warnings I guess if you haven't read these novels (which I highly recommend, though some parts in 'On the Way to a Smile' didn't sit right with me--like Vincent's personality, but these came out before Dirge of Cerberus I think) or played the Remake (which I also highly recommend. They've actually fixed things I had issues with in the original game and it's just a visual feast). Anyway, see you in the next chapter where actual shit happens. XD


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